Pinks, blues and purples illumine the scene,
Mallards glide home across the dappled green,
Rippling the water with resounding cry.
Their touchdown eddies a while and then dies,
The surface smoothes as if kissed by the sky.
A small chugging cruiser, a berth for two,
Approaches slowly and seizes the scene,
Cutting a swathe through the glistening sheen.
As dappled pirouettes reflect the light,
The few remaining pigeons settle and coo,
As the light dulls down to evening and night,
And the sun sinks down to below the sky.
And Regents Canal takes on ghostly hues,
As the chirruping birds cry their last call.
Crowds of kids rush across the wrought bridge,
Squealing home and drowning out peace and calm.
A continuous swish beyond the ridge,
Reminds of the bustle just out of view,
Impinges its drone as a couple stroll by,
The tow path a stage for their lovers tryst.
And the day gives way to the crescent moon
As the trees silhouette to inky gloom.
The water calms to the colour of loam
With a shadowed black edge of growing doom.
Teenage girls rush home, they gaggle and cry,
The last single beamed boat passes by,
Punctuating the growing darkness of night.
A star here and there just pin pricks of light,
Shine out amidst jet stream tinged pink and bright,
Crisscrossing against the weltering sky.
Night shades draw in on memory of day,
As another day dies and passes away.
YOU ARE READING
Still Waters
PoetryA collection of metered poems of life, death and everything in between.
